


strikhedonia

by chateauofmyheart



Series: queen + rare words [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Drinking, Existentialism, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Touch-Starved, brian loves the stars, hand holding, set in the 70s because im soft, slight Deacury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 04:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chateauofmyheart/pseuds/chateauofmyheart
Summary: strikhedonia - the pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”"Roger was grinning over at him, carefree in a way Brian couldn’t even imagine being. He couldn’t imagine much of anything that Roger embodied, the same way human beings couldn’t imagine new colors. Roger was breathtaking."





	strikhedonia

“To the bar!” 

Roger crowed loudly, jumping up from behind the drum stand. Freddie jumped up with him and cheered enthusiastically. A part of Brian wanted to join them, glad to be done with a long day’s hard work, but a greater part of him was just tired, the kind of tired he could feel in his bones. 

He lifted the Red Special slowly up and pulled the strap over his head, wincing at the beginnings of a cramp in his lower arm. Apparently writing essays for a few hours and then rehearsing for another few hours was stressful on the muscles. Who knew?

Roger was grinning over at him, carefree in a way Brian couldn’t even imagine being. He couldn’t imagine much of anything that Roger embodied, the same way human beings couldn’t imagine new colors. Roger was breathtaking.

Brian moved over to where Roger and Freddie had flocked by the door; already resigned, despite his exhaustion, to a tiring evening of drinking, questionable bar shenanigans, the subsequent headache, and watching at least one of the others- probably Roger- leave with someone else. Brian’s gut twisted at that thought, which he promptly ignored.

“Come on, Deacon, darling, while the night is young!” Freddie called. John finished putting away his bass and shifted some empty water bottles away from the drum kit before straightening up.

“It’s after eleven, you realize” he countered. Freddie waved his arms upward, whole body flowing forward. He always managed to look graceful, even in his almost childish excitement. Freddie truly was a star, in every sense of the word. There was no escaping his gravitational pull.

“Like I said!” he said, cheeky smile already out the door.

 

Brian shifted forward so his forearms rested on the bar counter. His hair brushed against his cheeks lightly as his eyes traced the wood. 

Next to him, John and Roger were talking; Roger with his endearingly drunken voice that seemed to fluctuate rapidly between a mumble and a near shout in a single sentence, and John with his flat but warm deadpan statements, punctuated by little giggles. Brian had no idea what they were talking about, nor did he particularly care.

His head was fuzzy, a little tipsy and a lot tired, and he could feel the predicted headache begin to form. Brian was aware of Roger’s body next to his, their thighs so close they could touch the next time Roger gesticulated wildly. Maybe it was the exhaustion or maybe the alcohol, but Brian didn’t immediately push the thought away. He let it linger, focused on it as everything else blurred. Roger, his soft thighs and the press of his shoulders against Brian’s. He wanted, suddenly, to hug Roger, to hold his hand and his body and cuddle on the couch. 

He wanted it with a fierceness he’d tried to avoid, because it meant he’d finally allowed himself to want- want Roger, in every sense of the word. 

He slipped up, Brian realized. He let himself become complacent and let his mind wander and now he couldn’t let go of the idea of curling his hands around Roger’s and pulling him close enough to feel the breath on his face. He could no longer deny the need for that warmth, that closeness. Brian stood up abruptly, world no longer a soft haze but a sharp glaze, lights too bright. Distantly, he registered his sharp breathing.

He needed to leave.

 

The night air was frigid, creeping under his coat and numbing his fingers. Brian could see his breath against the dark sky. It smelled of cigarette smoke, a familiar but grating smell clinging to the brickwork. Behind him, he could vaguely hear the sounds of the bar- chatter and laughter and glass clinking and faint music- but he tuned it out and tilted his head up.

The sky was clear, and the moon was was a bright sliver among the street lamps. A waning gibbous, Brian noted. The stars dotted the darkness; the longer he looked the more seemed to appear until the sky felt like it would burst.

It was calming. Brian had always loved looking at the stars, fell in love with them as a child and never really stopped. It reminded him that the world was so much bigger than him. He could scream into the sky and space would swallow it up. The universe was so much bigger and older than anything he could ever imagine. In the end, his life was nothing much at all. A blip in the cosmic radar. It was freeing, somehow, to know that the consequences of his actions would never go much further than this planet they were all a part of, one planet in one small solar system on the arm of an average-sized spiral galaxy among billions. One out of a countless number, close enough to infinity that humans would never find them all.

Brian breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with blistering cold air, and the stars watched indifferently. 

“Brian?”

He turned to the voice to find Roger standing beside him, face full of curiosity and something Brian couldn’t name. The light from the bar caught his hair, glowing it a soft golden halo. He had nothing but a thin shirt unbuttoned to the sternum. His eyes were half-lidded and cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

Brain thought he looked like an angel. 

“Mate, what’re you doin’ out here? ‘S bloody freezing” Roger muttered, breathy and a bit slurred. A cloud drifted from his lips and Brian thought briefly of touching them, running his fingertips along the cupid’s bow, before letting it drift away into the empty air. He could see Roger shiver a little now.

Brian ducked his head. “Just wanted some air” he offered. The excuse was hollow, but Roger thankfully didn’t push, maybe because he could see Brian was feeling off or maybe because he was drunk.

They stood there, icy chill settling into their bones as they stared up at the sky, and Brian realized just how tired he was. He was always stressed, always thinking and overthinking. Always worried, always aware of too much, always on edge. But here, outside some small pub in a London street, watching his breath mingle with Roger’s and dissipate into nothingness, feeling the heat radiating off the body next to him; nothing mattered here.

The universe may have been watching, and it may have not. The stars were balls of helium and hydrogen gas thousands of light years away and the moon was a frozen empty rock. Whatever he did would matter maybe a few days, maybe a few years, or maybe just a few minutes, then ultimately dissipate into nothingness as easily as his breath in the night air.

And he still wanted to touch Roger. Brian wanted it so bad it ached, every muscle clenched to keep him still and distanced. He could feel the heat radiating off Roger. Something in his chest loosened.

“I want to hold your hand.”

The thought hovered in front of Brian, meaning so much and so little. He’d never noticed how heavy it was to carry around until he let go. In the space after his sentence where anxiety would usually build its home, there was nothing. A quiet sense of freedom sang in his heart. For a moment there was nothing but silence.

Then a warm hand brushed his gently. Without looking, Brian flexed his numb fingers and wrapped them around Roger’s equally cold palm. 

In the stories, this moment was magical, earth shattering and life changing. It didn’t feel like that. It didn’t really feel like anything much had changed, though something must have. It wasn’t electrifying or overwhelming. It was soft. It was nice.

Brian finally looked down from the sky to glance at Roger and had his breath stolen, like Roger was always doing to him. Roger was staring at him like Brian imagined up he must stare at the stars, like he was something wonderful and awe-inspiring. Brian couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to.

He didn’t know how long they stood there, staring at each other. Something Brian’s chest unfurled and settled contentedly, like one of Freddie’s cats finding the perfect spot of sunshine on the floor. Brian thought Roger was a little bit like sunshine.

Roger shuffled a little closer to him, uncharacteristically shy but demanding in a way that was undeniably him. Brian shuffled closer in response until they were lined up hip to hip and shoulder and shoulder, joined hands trapped uncomfortably between their bodies. Brian never thought of letting go.

The tiny spaces where their bodies didn’t touch warmed quickly, shared heat holding the cold at bay. They had created a bubble, just barely encompassing them, to share. Roger looked away, eyes sliding over the stone pavement and eyelashes catching the glow of the street lamps.

“Guess ‘s not so cold now.” He let the words tumble to the ground beside him, but Brian caught them anyway and huffed a quiet laugh. Roger looked back to him.

“S’pose not.”

Another moment passed before Roger spoke again.

“Wanna go home? ‘S still pretty fuckin’ chilly,” he bobbed his head, almost in a nod, “even with you. You’re like a furnace, Brian.”

Brian looked up at the sky one more time, indifferent stars and empty moon and all, and ducked his head again, turning to Roger.

“Yeah.” It was barely a word at all, but Roger must’ve heard, because he smiled, small and bright, and the light shone golden through his hair again. An angel, Brian thought again and the cat in his chest purred.

 

They didn’t let go of each other’s hand the whole way back to the shared apartment. More silent than they’d ever been, they stumbled in and collapsed on the old couch, folding and rearranging limbs until they had fitted themselves against each other like two origami cranes. Brian drifted off to the heavy warmth of Roger on his chest, soft breath ghosting along his collarbones and getting lost somewhere in his hair. 

 

In their unconsciousness, they failed to notice Freddie snap a picture of their sleeping forms before slipping off to his own bed. And if Freddie pulled John along to bed with him, well, they didn’t notice that either.

**Author's Note:**

> i might make this into a series?? if people want. i also may or may not do a companion fic to this featuring deaky n freddie


End file.
